Manhattan Transfer by John Dos Passos
‘I live here, what do you think?… I married a friend of yours the other day, Armand Duval. Want to come up and see him?’
‘Just been… He’s a good scout.’
‘He sure is.’
‘What did you do with little Tony Hunter?’
She came close to him and spoke in a low voice. ‘Just forget about me and him will you?… Gawd the boy’s breath’d knock you down… Tony’s one of God’s mistakes, I’m through with him… Found him chewing the edges of the rug rolling on the floor of the dressing room one day because he was afraid he was going to be unfaithful to me with an acrobat… I told him he’d better go and be it and we busted up right there… But honest I’m out for connubial bliss this time, right on the level, so for God’s sake dont let anybody spring anything about Tony or about Baldwin either on Armand… though he knows he wasnt hitching up to any plaster virgin… Why dont you come up and eat with us?’
‘I cant. Good luck Nevada.’ The whisky warm in his stomach, tingling in his fingers, Jimmy Herf stepped out into seven o’clock Park Avenue, whirring with taxicabs, streaked with smells of gasoline and restaurants and twilight.
It was the first evening James Merivale had gone to the Metropolitan Club since he had been put up for it; he had been afraid, that like carrying a cane, it was a little old for him. He sat in a deep leather chair by a window smoking a thirtyfive cent cigar with the Wall Street Journal on his knee and a copy of the Cosmopolitan leaning against his right thigh and, with his eyes on the night flawed with lights like a crystal, he abandoned himself to reverie: Economic Depression… Ten million dollars… After the war slump. Some smash I’ll tell the world. BLACKHEAD & DENSCH FAIL FOR $10,000,000… Densch left the country some days ago… Blackhead incommunicado in his home at Great Neck. One of the oldest and most respected import and export firms in New York, $10,000,000. O it’s always fair weather When good fellows get together. That’s the thing about banking. Even in a deficit there’s money to be handled, collateral. These commercial propositions always entail a margin of risk. We get ’em coming or else we get ’em going, eh Merivale? That’s what old Perkins said when Cunningham mixed him that Jack Rose… With a stein on the tahul And a good song ri-i-inging clear. Good connection that feller. Maisie knew what she was doing after all… A man in a position like that’s always likely to be blackmailed. A fool not to prosecute… Girl’s crazy he said, married to another man of the same name… Ought to be in a sanitarium, a case like that. God I’d have dusted his hide for him. Circumstances exonerated him completely, even mother admitted that. O Sinbad was in bad in Tokio and Rome… that’s what Jerry used to sing. Poor old Jerry never had the feeling of being in good right in on the ground floor of the Metropolitan Club… Comes of poor stock. Take Jimmy now… hasnt even that excuse, an out and out failure, a misfit from way back… Guess old man Herf was pretty wild, a yachtsman. Used to hear mother say Aunt Lily had to put up with a whole lot. Still he might have made something of himself with all his advantages… dreamer, wanderlust… Greenwich Village stuff. And dad did every bit as much for him as he did for me… And this divorce now. Adultery… with a prostitute like as not. Probably had syphilis or something. Ten Million Dollar Failure.
Failure. Success.
Ten Million Dollar Success… Ten Years of Successful Banking… At the dinner of the American Bankers Association last night James Merivale, president of the Bank & Trust Company, spoke in answer to the toast ‘Ten Years of Progressive Banking’… Reminds me gentlemen of the old darky who was very fond of chicken… But if you will allow me a few serious words on this festive occasion (flashlight photograph) there is a warning note I should like to sound… feel it my duty as an American citizen, as president of a great institution of nationwide, international in the better sense, nay, universal contacts and loyalties (flashlight photograph)… At last making himself heard above the thunderous applause James Merivale, his stately steelgray head shaking with emotion, continued his speech… Gentlemen you do me too much honor… Let me only add that in all trials and tribulations, becalmed amid the dark waters of scorn or spurning the swift rapids of popular estimation, amid the still small hours of the night, and in the roar of millions at noonday, my staff, my bread of life, my inspiration has been my triune loyalty to my wife, my mother, and my flag.
The long ash from his cigar had broken and fallen on his knees. James Merivale got to his feet and gravely brushed the light ash off his trousers. Then he settled down again and with an intent frown began to read the article on Foreign Exchange in the Wall Street Journal.
They sit up on two stools in the lunchwaggon.
‘Say kid how the hell did you come to sign up on that old scow?’
‘Wasnt anything else going out east.’
‘Well you sure have dished your gravy this time kid, cap’n ’s a dopehead, first officer’s the damnedest crook out o Sing Sing, crew’s a lot o bohunks, the ole tub aint worth the salvage of her… What was your last job?’
‘Night clerk in a hotel.’
‘Listen to that cookey… Jesus Kerist Amighty look at a guy who’ll give up a good job clerkin in a swell hotel in Noo York City to sign on as messboy on Davy Jones’ own steam yacht… A fine seacook you’re goin to make.’ The younger man is flushing. ‘How about that Hamburgher?’ he shouts at the counterman.
After they have eaten, while they are finishing their coffee, he turns to his friend and asks in a low voice, ‘Say Rooney was you ever overseas… in the war?’
‘I made Saint Nazaire a couple o times. Why?’
‘I dunno… It kinder gave me the itch… I was two years in it. Things aint been the same. I used to think all I wanted was to get a good job an marry an settle down, an now I dont give a damn… I can keep a job for six months or so an then I get the almighty itch, see? So I thought I ought to see the orient a bit…’
‘Never you mind,’ says Rooney shaking his head. ‘You’re goin to see it, dont you worry about that.’
‘What’s the damage?’ the young man asks the counterman.
‘They must a caught you young.’
‘I was sixteen when I enlisted.’ He picks up his change and follows Rooney’s broad shambling back into the street. At the end of the street, beyond trucks and the roofs of warehouses, he can see masts and the smoke of steamers and white steam rising into the sunlight.
‘Pull down the shade,’ comes the man’s voice from the bed.
‘I cant, it’s busted… Oh hell, here’s the whole business down.’ Anna almost bursts out crying when the roll hits her in the face, ‘You fix it,’ she says going towards the bed.
‘What do I care, they cant see in,’ says the man catching hold of her laughing.
‘It’s just those lights,’ she moans, wearily letting herself go limp in his arms.
It is a small room the shape of a shoebox with an iron bed in the corner of the wall opposite the window. A roar of streets rises to it rattling up a V shaped recess in the building. On the ceiling she can see the changing glow of electric signs along Broadway, white, red, green, then a jumble like a bubble bursting, and again white, red, green.
‘Oh Dick I wish you’d fix that shade, those lights give me the willies.’
‘The lights are all right Anna, it’s like bein in a theater… It’s the Gay White Way, like they used to say.’
‘That stuff’s all right for you out of town fellers, but it gives me the willies.’
‘So you’re workin for Madame Soubrine now are you Anna?’
‘You mean I’m scabbin… I know it. The old woman trew me out an it was get a job or croak…’
‘A nice girl like you Anna could always find a boyfriend.’
‘God you buyers are a dirty lot… You think that because I’ll go with you, I’d go wid anybody… Well I wouldnt, do you get that?’
‘I didnt mean that Anna… Gee you’re awful quick tonight.’
‘I guess it’s my nerves… This strike an the old woman trowin me out an scabbi
‘Hell Anna, things aint so bad, honest I’d take you West with me if it wasnt for my wife.’
Anna’s voice goes on in an even whimper, ‘An now ’cause I take a shine to you and want to give you a good time you call me a goddam whore.’
‘I didnt say no such thing. I didnt even think it. All I thought was that you was a dead game sport and not a kewpie above the ears like most of ’em… Look if it’ll make ye feel better I’ll try an fix that shade.’
Lying on her side she watches his heavy body move against the milky light of the window. At last his teeth chattering he comes back to her. ‘I cant fix the goddam thing… Kerist it’s cold.’
‘Never mind Dick, come on to bed… It must be late. I got to be up there at eight.’
He pulls his watch from under the pillow. ‘It’s half after two… Hello kitten.’
On the ceiling she can see reflected the changing glare of the electric signs, white, red, green, then a jumble like a bubble bursting, then again white, green, red.
‘An he didn’t even invite me to the wedding… Honestly Florence I could have forgiven him if he’d invited me to the wedding,’ she said to the colored maid when she brought in the coffee. It was a Sunday morning. She was sitting up in bed with the papers spread over her lap. She was looking at a photograph in a rotogravure section labeled Mr and Mrs Jack Cunningham Hop Off for the First Lap of Their Honeymoon on his Sensational Seaplane Albatross VII. ‘He looks handsome dont he?’
‘He su’ is miss… But wasn’t there anything you could do to stop ’em, miss?’
‘Not a thing… You see he said he’d have me committed to an asylum if I tried… He knows perfectly well a Yucatan divorce isn’t legal.’
Florence sighed.
‘Menfolks su’ do dirt to us poor girls.’
‘Oh this wont last long. You can see by her face she’s a nasty selfish spoiled little girl… And I’m his real wife before God and man. Lord knows I tried to warn her. Whom God has joined let no man put asunder… that’s in the Bible isnt it?… Florence this coffee is simply terrible this morning. I cant drink it. You go right out and make me some fresh.’
Frowning and hunching her shoulders Florence went out the door with the tray.
Mrs Cunningham heaved a deep sigh and settled herself among the pillows. Outside churchbells were ringing. ‘Oh Jack you darling I love you just the same,’ she said to the picture. Then she kissed it. ‘Listen, deary the churchbells sounded like that the day we ran away from the High School Prom and got married in Milwaukee… It was a lovely Sunday morning.’ Then she stared in the face of the second Mrs Cunningham. ‘Oh you,’ she said and poked her finger through it.
When she got to her feet she found that the courtroom was very slowly sickeningly going round and round; the white fishfaced judge with noseglasses, faces, cops, uniformed attendants, gray windows, yellow desks, all going round and round in the sickening close smell, her lawyer with his white hawk nose, wiping his bald head, frowning, going round and round until she thought she would throw up. She couldn’t hear a word that was said, she kept blinking to get the blur out of her ears. She could feel Dutch behind her hunched up with his head in his hands. She didnt dare look back. Then after hours everything was sharp and clear, very far away. The judge was shouting at her, from the small end of a funnel his colorless lips moving in and out like the mouth of a fish.
‘… And now as a man and a citizen of this great city I want to say a few words to the defendants. Briefly this sort of thing has got to stop. The unalienable rights of human life and property the great men who founded this republic laid down in the constitootion have got to be reinstated. It is the dooty of every man in office and out of office to combat this wave of lawlessness by every means in his power. Therefore in spite of what those sentimental newspaper writers who corrupt the public mind and put into the head of weaklings and misfits of your sort the idea that you can buck the law of God and man, and private property, that you can wrench by force from peaceful citizens what they have earned by hard work and brains… and get away with it; in spite of what these journalistic hacks and quacks would call extentuating circumstances I am going to impose on you two highwaymen the maximum severity of the law. It is high time an example was made…’
The judge took a drink of water. Francie could see the little beads of sweat standing out from the pores of his nose.
‘It is high time an example was made,’ the judge shouted. ‘Not that I dont feel as a tender and loving father the misfortunes, the lack of education and ideels, the lack of a loving home and tender care of a mother that has led this young woman into a life of immorality and misery, led away by the temptations of cruel and voracious men and the excitement and wickedness of what has been too well named, the jazz age. Yet at the moment when these thoughts are about to temper with mercy the stern anger of the law, the importunate recollection rises of other young girls, perhaps hundreds of them at this moment in this great city about to fall into the clutches of a brutal and unscrupulous tempter like this man Robertson… for him and his ilk there is no punishment sufficiently severe… and I remember that mercy misplaced is often cruelty in the long run. All we can do is shed a tear for erring womanhood and breathe a prayer for the innocent babe that this unfortunate girl has brought into the world as the fruit of her shame…’
Francie felt a cold tingling that began at her fingertips and ran up her arms into the blurred whirling nausea of her body. ‘Twenty years,’ she could hear the whisper round the court, they all seemed licking their lips whispering softly ‘Twenty years.’ ‘I guess I’m going to faint,’ she said to herself as if to a friend. Everything went crashing black.
Propped with five pillows in the middle of his wide colonial mahogany bed with pineapples on the posts Phineas P. Blackhead his face purple as his silk dressing gown sat up and cursed. The big mahogany-finished bedroom hung with Javanese print cloth instead of wallpaper was empty except for a Hindu servant in a white jacket and turban who stood at the foot of the bed, with his hands at his sides, now and then bowing his head at a louder gust of cursing and saying ‘Yes, Sahib, yes, Sahib.’
‘By the living almighty Jingo you goddam yellow Babu bring me that whiskey, or I’ll get up and break every bone in your body, do you hear, Jesus God cant I be obeyed in my own house? When I say whiskey I mean rye not orange juice. Damnation. Here take it!’ He picked up a cutglass pitcher off the nighttable and slung it at the Hindu. Then he sank back on the pillows, saliva bubbling on his lips, choking for breath.
Silently the Hindu mopped up the thick Beluchistan rug and slunk out of the room with a pile of broken glass in his hand. Blackhead was breathing more easily, his eyes sank into their deep sockets and were lost in the folds of sagged green lids.
He seemed asleep when Gladys came in wearing a raincoat with a wet umbrella in her hand. She tiptoed to the window and stood looking out at the gray rainy street and the old tomblike brownstone houses opposite. For a splinter of a second she was a little girl come in her nightgown to have Sunday morning breakfast with daddy in his big bed.
He woke up with a start, looked about him with bloodshot eyes, the heavy muscles of his jowl tightening under the ghastly purplish . skin.
‘Well Gladys where’s that rye whiskey I ordered?’
‘Oh daddy you know what Dr Thom said.’
‘He said it’d kill me if I took another drink… Well I’m not dead yet am I? He’s a damned ass.’
‘Oh but you must take care of yourself and not get all excited.’ She kissed him and put a cool slim hand on his forehead.
‘Havent I got reason to get excited? If I had m
A nurse put her head in the door.
‘Get out of here,’ shouted Blackhead, ‘none of your starched virgins around me.’ He threw the pillow from under his head. The nurse disappeared. The pillow hit one of the posts and bounced back on the bed. Gladys began to cry.
‘Oh daddy I cant stand it… and everybody always respected you so… Do try to control yourself, daddy dear.’
‘And why should I for Christ’s sake… ? Show’s over, why dont you laugh? Curtain’s down. It’s all a joke, a smutty joke.’
He began to laugh deliriously, then he was choking, fighting for breath with clenched fists again. At length he said in a broken voice, ‘Don’t you see that it’s only the whiskey that was keeping me going? Go away and leave me Gladys and send that damned Hindu to me. I’ve always liked you better than anything in the world… You know that. Quick tell him to bring me what I ordered.’
Gladys went out crying. Outside her husband was pacing up and down the hall. ‘It’s those damned reporters… I dont know what to tell ’em. They say the creditors want to prosecute.’
‘Mrs Gaston,’ interrupted the nurse, ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to get male nurses… Really I cant do anything with him…’ On the lower floor a telephone was ringing ringing.
When the Hindu brought the bottle of whiskey Blackhead filled a highball glass and took a deep gulp of it.
‘Ah that makes you feel better, by the living Jingo it does. Achmet you’re a good fellow… Well I guess we’ll have to face the music and sell out… Thank God Gladys is settled. I’ll sell out every goddam thing I’ve got. I wish that precious son-in-law wasnt such a simp. Always my luck to be surrounded by a lot of capons… By gad I’d just as soon go to jail if it’ll do em any good; why not? it’s all in a lifetime. And afterwards when I come out I’ll get a job as a bargeman or watchman on a wharf. I’d like that. Why not take it easy after tearing things up all my life, eh Achmet?’